Nineteen Years
by Greenaleydis
Summary: Nineteen years later, things were as they were meant to be. But the journey tells a different tale. A Dramione one-shot.


_**Nineteen Years**_

**One**

He looked so much more solemn than she remembered.

Sitting in the defendant's chair wearing Azkaban robes did that to a person.

Hermione forced herself to keep writing, keep her eyes on her parchment, so she didn't have to acknowledge that he was staring at her. Why, she didn't know, but she wouldn't look up to find out. She had a job to do, and she did not need him making her uncomfortable.

She was _not_ squeamish.

Normally, she could hear the snap of a wand, hear the pleas of prisoners as they were taken away, and not feel a thing. So then why did the sentence sound so horrifying in her mind? Why did the gavel's bang against the base sound so loud in her ears?

When she finally did look up, Draco Malfoy was staring at his hands.

**Two**

"Hermione, you should at least hear him out -"

She shook her head. "I don't want to, not right now." She threw back the last of her firewhiskey.

Ginny faltered, then tried again. "I know my brother's been a git lately - "

"He's _always_ been a git. I just hadn't realized how _fucked up_ our relationship was until recently."

Ginny masked her astonishment of Hermione's use of profanity and put her hand on the other girl's shoulder. "You two are meant to be together. He knows that. He's just stressed out and he takes it out on you."

"Well, I don't deserve that, okay? I deserve better."

**Three**

_Death Eaters Released_

_The International Confederation of Wizards passed a new law last week, lightening both the sentences of former Death Eaters and forcing Azkaban residents to be evaluated._

_With the third anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts coming up, many people question the timing of such an operation._

_Lucas le Jandre, a former Confederation wizard, commented, "The Confederation always seeks to do what is best for the wizarding world. It is time that the tyranny of the Dark Lord is put behind us, and the Confederation recognizes that."_

_Theodore Nott, Hunter Percival, and Draco Malfoy were among the Death Eaters that have been released under this new legislation. Some members of the Wizengamot believe… [cont. on page 4]_

Before she could turn the page, her secretary caught her attention. "Ms. Granger? Your four o'clock is here."

She looked up, and there he was, staring at her, his expression a mixture of indifference and disgust.

**Four**

"Where are my reports, Malfoy?"

"I don't bloody have them."

"Well, I suggest you get on that. I want them in one hour."

"Yes, _ma'am_."

"What was that?"

"I said, 'yes ma'am'."

"I know what you said, you ingrate. You don't get to speak to me with that tone. Am I understood?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

Grumble. "Yes, ma'am."

**Five**

"THAT'S IT. I'm sick of your shit, Malfoy. You can't go a _single_ day without doing something to ruin it. You are _fired!_"

"You know what? I'm glad."

Hermione's eyes were alight with fire, her expression ferocious. "And why is that, Malfoy?"

"Because now I can do this," he murmured, and pressed his lips against hers.

**Six**

His breath was hot in her mouth as he pressed her against the shelves, his body shifting around her. How many times had they done this, yet it still thrilled him to no end? He reached around and pulled at the fabric of her shirt, lifting it out of the bind of her skirt and wrinkling it between his fingers.

"Can we actually do it on the bed for once?" Hermione whispered, her hands already inching their way into his pants.

"If we make it that far," he murmured back, lifting her up and setting her on a shelf, scattering the chachka and tumbling the books onto the floor.

**Seven**

He was talking about the future. Talking about going out to a restaurant together, being seen in public together, maybe even getting a flat together. Somewhere away from England, away from Malfoy Manor, away from the Ministry.

She smiled and kissed the spot below his ear as he talked.

"We could do it, Granger. You and me, just get out of here."

It was crazy talk, and they knew it. But it had been years and the pretense of them not being ridiculously in love was tiresome. "What about my job? My friends?"

Draco looked out the window, wishing things were as easy as he was making them sound. "You can still keep all of that. I just want to be a part of it. A part of your life."

"You already are," she said, taking ahold of his collar and beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt.

Ignoring her determined fingers, Draco shook his head. "Not like this. Not this… sneaking around and being careful. We've been doing this for too long, and I don't want to do it anymore. We shouldn't have to be secretive."

"We've talked about this," she sighed, getting up and repositioning herself onto his lap. He raised his eyebrow at the new contact but remained focused on her face.

"Don't you hate living this way?"

Yes, she did. But they had already talked about it before; he had been angry, wondering why it was so important to her that no one knew they were dating. He'd said he'd felt used constantly, like he wasn't good enough to be seen in public with her. He wasn't used to the way they were together - he was used to being public about his relationships, and taking care of his women.

It wasn't what they wanted, but it was what they needed.

"I know, Draco. I hate it. But we'll figure it out, okay? We always do." She kissed him, threading her fingers in his hair and pressing her breasts against his chest.

"No fair," he muttered against her lips.

**Eight**

Draco jumped as the fireplace suddenly lit up, and in stepped Harry Potter, his face angrier than he had ever seen it. "I knew it," Harry muttered, his wand appearing out of nowhere and settling on Draco.

"Shit!" Draco moved off of Hermione, almost falling off her sofa.

"I can't believe you would do this to us, Hermione."

Hermione tried desperately to pull her forgotten shirt around herself, tears already forming in her eyes as she shook her head. "I didn't do anything to you!"

"Yes you did! The second you even _thought_ about him, you hurt us."

"I'm not with Ron anymore, Harry! I haven't been with him for years!"

"That doesn't matter. He's been sick with remorse, trying to talk to you for the longest time, trying to get back with you. And I wondered why you blew him off so easily. I won't have it. I won't have you destroying your life."

"This isn't about you, Potter!" Draco shot forth, placing himself between Harry and Hermione's half-dressed form.

"_Shut up, Malfoy!_ And get _out_ of here!"

"No."

Harry's expression darkened. "What was that? I told you to leave."

"No. I love her. And this isn't your flat."

"I DON'T CARE!"

"Stop it! Draco, give us a minute," she said, putting her hand on Draco's shoulder to calm him down. He took fast strides away from them, his open shirt trailing in his wake.

"I can't believe this, Hermione. Of _all_ the people you could possibly date - "

"What's so wrong about it? It's been years! He's _different_, Harry. He's so much different than he was in school!"

"It's not just him," Harry muttered, coming closer and trying to look past the fact that if he hadn't interrupted them, they'd still be going at it. "It's Ron as well."

"Ron and I broke _up,_ Harry. Ages ago. You know that!"

"He wants to get back together with you! Can't you see that? Or were you too busy fucking Malfoy to care?"

Hermione turned away from his harsh words, keeping in her tears.

"Please talk to Ron. I have to get back to my son."

**Nine**

Hermione stared down at her daughter with wonder and love, cradling the small baby in her arms. Ronald Weasley put his arm around her shoulders, looking down at his new wife.

"What should we name her?" he asked, stroking the little girl's small, puckered face. "Your choice, Hermione."

Her expression clouded over as it had done many times in the past year, remembering how Draco had always had an opinion about everything. Ron never seemed to have an opinion anymore. He was too afraid of her.

She sighed. "Rose. See her rosy little cheeks?"

**Ten**

She could still smell him on some of her clothes, still feel his touch when she closed her eyes. If she squinted, it was him in her family pictures, him in her wedding photos.

But she did not allow herself that.

Harry had never told Ron, which she appreciated. If he had brought it up now, it would be out of place and destructive. Harry knew better. But she couldn't deal with his looks of knowing, his eyes following her whenever she went away from her husband. She couldn't stand that _he'd_ been the first one to know and that he'd found out the way he had.

Even more, she regretted the way she had ended it. Like Draco's thoughts and fears didn't even matter, like all the love or whatever it was she had felt for him had disappeared.

The worst part was that he hadn't hated her for it.

She would have felt less guilty if he had.

**Eleven**

"Draco, you need to get yourself together. You have a wonderful wife, a baby boy, a new job. Things are looking up."

"I've just… been in a fog. Like I'm not even a part of my own life."

Blaise shook his head, trying not to think about who he was talking about. If he ever saw Hermione Granger on the street, he would deck her right in the mouth with no preamble. Draco could kill him later, he didn't care. But if he had to watch his best friend lifelessly moving about, see him sagging under an invisible weight for one more day, Blaise would lose it. "These things happen, Draco," he sighed, bottling his anger towards the Granger she-devil. "The lot of them are beasts. They catch you and then they drop you. It's how women operate."

It wasn't how she operated, Draco knew. He knew his Granger - there was always something more to it.

"So stop it. If you still love Granger, why did you marry Astoria? Get over it. She's gone."

**Twelve**

He was kissing her again, the way he used to. It was as if they never forgot what it was like, what it meant. It was like nothing had changed.

Of course, that was a lie. Everything had changed, changed so much that they were in even more danger, even more trouble if they were to be found out. This thrilled Hermione as she loosened his tie with quick movements and stripped it from his neck with one pull.

Sure, his face wasn't as smooth as it had been. His hard stomach was gone. Her hair was beginning to fade into a dusty brown; she would need to dye it again soon. Two pregnancies had given her larger breasts and a soft belly to match. But none of that mattered in that moment. Neither saw any of this as Draco pulled her skirt up and yanked her sensible knickers to the floor.

Though it was as wonderful as before, it was somehow different as well. She was more confident, her movements more practiced. She was doing different things to him, things he didn't remember her ever doing when they were together.

It scared him a little.

**Thirteen**

"Where did that shirt come from?" Ron asked as they got into bed one night.

Hermione looked down at the deep blue button down she was wearing. "I thought it was yours."

"Unless you gave it to me, no."

Her eyes lit up in recognition and she said quickly, "It's probably one of the ones I gave you for your birthday last year."

It was not in Ron's nature to be suspicious; if it had been Harry who had found the expensive shirt, he would have burned a hole straight through her with his knowing, hurt look. He would have demanded to see it, read the brand name on the collar and know that it was a color that Draco often liked to wear. She would have crumbled under her lie and her shame, and would have had to watch as she lost the trust of not only Ron, but the rest of her family.

Ron's snoring interrupted her fearful musings, and she inhaled the smell of the fabric around her, memories of a different time returning to her. She could still smell Draco, still feel him in the folds. He must have left it at her house at some point.

Smiling, Hermione snuggled further into her blankets, hugging her arms to her chest.

**Fourteen**

_Merry Christmas from the Weasley Family._

Draco looked down at the smiling pictures of Hermione, Ron, and their children, forcing himself to feel nothing. The Granger in the picture looked content with her life, there standing next to Weasley. She _looked_ like a Weasley - frumpy and motherly and blissfully unaware of that fact.

She didn't look like the uptight, subtly attractive boss that had shit-canned him. She didn't look like the woman he had once woken up next to on so many occasions.

She didn't look like the woman he had kissed.

Suddenly he noticed that she was trying to get his attention. She made a twirling motion with her hand and winked.

When he turned the card over, a handwritten note appeared:

_Merry Christmas. I'm sorry for everything. I miss you._

**Fifteen**

"I… I can't" she muttered, turning away from his kiss.

"Why not? It's not the first time. It's not even the second."

"I know. It's just… we're cheating."

Draco nodded slowly, waiting for the punch line. She stared back at him, trying to make him understand.

It was there again, that look, that question. Hermione reached up and stroked his face, remembering the feeling of his stubble tickling her palms. "I know, Draco. I know."

**Sixteen**

Draco opened the gate to the lift, stepping in and checking his briefcase for the files he needed. Yes, everything seemed to be in order. He checked his watch.

As the doors began to close, a hand appeared between the gate and the wall, and three people entered, speaking animatedly about a recent meeting.

He looked up, recognizing the female voice, and blanched as Hermione Weasley stared back at him, hardly realizing that she was still speaking.

**Seventeen**

"Mummy?"

Hermione set down her book and smiled down at her daughter. "Yes, sweetie?"

"How come I don't look like Hugo?" Rose Weasley asked.

Hermione stifled a wince and cleared her throat. "Because Hugo is a boy, honey."

**Eighteen**

He knew it was time to throw it away. It had been in his desk drawer for way too long.

He picked up the wooden hair stick, brushing his fingers over the carved surface and following its contour with his nails.

She wore her hair differently now. It was no longer in that beautiful twist, with a bit of fringe hanging on the sides. She wore it low on her neck, pulled loosely away from her face and emphasizing her forehead. All she needed was an ancient high-collared black blouse and she'd look like Madam Pince.

Draco shook his head. These thoughts were faint, but still present. There wasn't a day that went by where he didn't think of her, compare her to how she used to be. He was bitter, he knew; while he had convinced himself that he was not angry with her for her chosen life, it did not stop him from thinking, knowing, that he could have given her more.

As he reached for his trash bin, his son burst through the door. "Dad! Look what I did!" Scorpius walked up to his father, holding a paper crane like he was carrying the Crown Jewels.

"That's excellent, son. Go show your mother."

Scorpius grinned and turned. "Mum! _MUM!_"

Draco put the hair stick into his pocket and retrieved his briefcase. On second thought, he'd leave it by her desk while she was at lunch.

**Nineteen**

The Leaky Cauldron was nearly empty when she walked in, her shopping bags weighing down her arm. She took a seat at the bar and gave Tom her order.

The man next to her clanked his drink on the bar, and it automatically refilled itself. Hermione smiled to herself as a second later a glass appeared in front of her.

"Your son looks just like you," she said, as if to herself.

The man nodded absently, sipping his drink and staring into nothing. "Do you ever miss it?"

"Miss what?" she replied, though she knew what he was talking about.

He looked over at her, his eyes dimmed with the same solemnity they'd had when she had first seen him, clad in Azkaban robes, his wand snapped, his spirit broken. His expression warmed a bit, and he set down his drink a little more softly this time. "Us."

Hermione took a sip, unwilling to give the answer she knew in her heart. She did not want to see that look in his eye, that question that he'd asked her so many times, over and over: _why?_ "Sometimes," she conceded. "But it's not about what we want anymore."

He nodded his agreement, taking up his drink once again and turning away from her.

"Ron and Harry are expecting me home soon," she murmured, knowing that mention of her husband and friend were likely to anger him. Instead, he acknowledged their names with a slight raise of his eyebrow and downed the rest of his firewhiskey.

"Have I ever told you I was sorry?" he asked.

She turned on her stool to face him properly.

"I'm sorry, Granger. For everything. I'm sorry I ruined the possibilities."

_The possibilities._ He was apologizing not only for the last nineteen years, but for the years before that. For the years that he'd been too quick to judge her, too quick to label her and not assess the matter further. She smiled. "Me too. I'm sorry I chose them over you. I'd take it back now if I could."

He nodded again, trying to ignore the sudden thrill he felt at her words. He twirled his glass on the wooden bar, leaving wet circles over the shining surface.

"Would you like to come to dinner? We are celebrating tonight. For our kids."

Draco smiled crookedly down at his glass. "Potter and Weasley would tear me apart."

"No they won't. They know better than to mess with my friends."

Draco looked up at her, and her eyes were shining the way they had used to. He smiled. Maybe they didn't have to lose their time together.


End file.
